Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
by Terra King
Summary: This is a chapter of a story I am still deciding whether or not to write and post. My decision will depend entirely on no. of reviews received. So please help me make a choice. Thanks! Movie-Based! Note: Harry's parents return and Sirius does not die!
1. Chapter 1

"It was truly foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom," said Dumbledore, his tone of voice indifferently calm, his face cool as his blue eyes took in the evil, murderous wizard that had once been his student. "The Aurors are on their way…"

Voldemort only smiled his twisted smile at him. "By which time I shall be gone…" he raised his wand. "And you…shall be dead."

As quick as lightning, Dumbledore telekinetically pushed Harry to one side with a wave of his hand, and triggered the power of his wand. A cord of red light animated from his wand's core to meet the jet of green light shooting from Voldemort's. Sparks of auburn and aquamarine literally flew in all directions as the two spells collided. With his back leaning against a wall, Harry sat up hesitantly, his eyes wide as his mind and senses fully registered what exactly was going on. As he watched how the two jets of light struggled to push the other back, Harry was strongly reminded of the _Priori Incantatem_ that ultimately saved his life, when he was forced to duel Voldemort at the end of his fourth year. For a moment, he wondered if Dumbledore's and Voldemort's wands were also brothers, just like how his wand shared cores with Voldemort's. But he shrugged the thought off as he recalled Dumbledore telling him earlier that his fifteen-inch wand was made of elder wood, with the core of a Thestral hair. Voldemort's was thirteen-and-a-half-inches, made of yew, and had the core of the phoenix Fawkes' feather. There was no way they were brothers.

Cackling sounds jolted Harry back to reality. He realised that lightning-like tendrils were popping off from the main beam of green light and hitting the marble squares above and around him – the impatient Voldemort was trying to direct his curse at him, while fending off Dumbledore. Fortunately, miraculously for him, the bolts of deadly magic were all missing their target, destroying instead parts of the wall that he was sitting against. Debris of ivory-smooth, dark-green marble surrounded him. _Merlin, _he thought to himself, as he drew his knees closer to his chest, his hands on top of his head, as to shield himself from the onslaught of pieces and bits of marble. _I always knew that I was lucky, but I didn't know that I was THIS lucky…_

Dumbledore, however, was becoming both worried…and angry. With every bolt of deadly magic was intended for Harry, his heart missed a beat; believe or not, he truly loved and cared for Harry, in fact, he loved and cared for Harry more than anyone or anything in his life. The fact that _he _had been the one to condemn the poor innocent boy to a dark, lonely, insecure, difficult childhood was something that he will never ever forgive himself for. The fact that _said poor innocent boy_ still forgave him, still loved and looked up to him as a beloved grandfather who can always be counted on for comfort and advice had only served to intensify his guilt, his self-loathing, and his remorse, it truly was more than he had hoped for. Losing the trust and faith of James, Lily, Sirius, and even Remus (partially) due to the terrible mistakes he made regarding Harry had been painful, but he honestly did not think he was able to bear it if he had also lost the trust and faith of the boy who was the grandson he never had, the one and only person whom he allowed himself to wholeheartedly love and get attached to ever since his…his…his…own family was destroyed. He had made a personal vow to himself to never hurt or disappoint his surrogate grandson ever again.

_This is exactly why this has to end now, Dumbledore! _A voice commanded powerfully in his head. _The longer you take, the more danger Harry will be in! Remember that Tom knows and is capable of many dirty tricks! This has to end now! If not, then as quickly as you can!_

With that in mind, the wise old wizard slowly advanced towards his dangerous opponent, forcing more and more of his strength and power into his spell; little by little, the red light forced the green light backwards. His blood-red eyes widening at the unexpected, absolutely impossible (in his own opinion) turn of tide, Voldemort broke the connection with a quick slash of his wand…then laid out his second card to play.

Dumbledore's and Harry's eyes widened to the size of plates at the terrible apparition that materialized before them: a huge, monstrous serpent that seemed to be made of fire and lava, baring its razor-sharp fangs as if anticipating a sumptuous feast. Voldemort laughed his cruel and heartless laugh. Sweating profusely from heat, fear, and reluctant fascination, Harry huddled closer against the wall, strangely unable to look away despite the horrifying monstrosity of the towering, fiery serpent. _It actually kind of looks like the Basilisk. _A part of his mind that had, by some miracle, managed to retain the power of reasoning and logical thinking, concluded. _Oh, where is the Sorting Hat when Dumbledore and I need it?! We definitely could use Gryffindor's sword right now!!! But wait…would it work on a monster that is not of flesh and blood???_ Dumbledore took a few steps back, his blue eyes wide, and his mouth half-open. _Oh, Tom, what powers have you sold your soul to?! What exactly is it about such dark, such monstrous, such terrible powers that fascinates you so?! Are you really completely, utterly blind to what they have done to you, what they have forced you to become?! _With a grin as twisted as that of its creator's, the serpent lunged at Dumbledore, but the old wizard was prepared. Uttering a well-chosen formula under his breath, he fiercely slashed his wind at the fiery monster.

The serpent drew back, shrieking in pain and rage, as if it had been struck with a deadly weapon. Cold, unnatural winds blew about, roaring and whining, sending chills down Harry's spine. As his green eyes watched, the serpent disintegrated into pure fire, which Dumbledore gathered, with his hands and wand, and then sent it hurling towards Voldemort. Mentally cursing the old wizard, Voldemort made a gesture of power, and the fire disappeared without a trace. He raised his wand again, but Dumbledore was too quick for him.

_ Spirit of waters, _his mind mentally chanted, as he flicked his wand. _Come to my aid! _His wand core glowed a radiant blue.

In answer to his spell, the water of the _Fountain of Magical Brethren_ rose like a tidal wave. Voldemort, caught by surprise, was unable to retaliate, as he found himself engulfed completely in water. Using his left hand and his still-glowing wand, Dumbledore compelled the water to surround Voldemort akin to a "cocoon of molten glass", his teeth gritted, and his usually warm and gentle eyes now fierce and blazing – manipulation and control of the elements was a highly advanced, dangerously powerful kind of magic, one that required a wizard's total and absolute concentration, focus, and willpower, even for one with the strength and the skill of Albus Dumbledore.

Voldemort, still visible within the enchanted sphere of water, snarled furiously. _Very clever, Dumbledore. Fighting fire with water. But it is useless, all of it! Powerful and skilled though you are, you cannot keep this up forever! You, pathetic, irredeemable, filth-loving old fool, are merely delaying the inevitable!_ His red eyes darted left and right, back and front, up and down the magical watery sphere, desperately seeking for a loophole that he could take advantage of to break free.

There were none.

However, Harry unknowingly provided his worst enemy with one.

He had actually come up behind the man whom he loved as a grandfather, watching the intense duel between the two all-powerful wizards, in absolute, silent fascination. He had read of and heard about such duels, of course, but seeing it _for real_ was a breathtaking, stunning, completely different experience, one that he knew he will never ever forget. Upon spotting the boy that had always been the biggest thorn in his flesh, Voldemort viciously slashed at the watery sphere in his direction, his red eyes blazing with murder, prompting Dumbledore to turn around in confused wonder.

_Harry! _With a lightning-quick wave of his left hand, Dumbledore blasted Harry away from the fighting, making the boy fall on his buttocks. _You should have stayed where you were, Harry! It is too dangerous here! Never mind, I will get you out of here as quickly as I can, Harry! I swear it! I just need a little more time! _He then returned to focusing on the water-manipulation magic that he had been performing previously.

But it was too late.

That momentary distraction was all the ferociously powerful wizard that was Lord Voldemort needed. He broke free of his watery prison, which vanished with a tremendous splash.

Burning with a mixture of unholy triumph and murderous rage, Voldemort sent a torrent of dark energy towards Harry, intending to vaporise him, but Dumbledore intervened. In an unbelievable reflex for a man of his advanced age, the Headmaster of Hogwarts sprang protectively in front of Harry, holding off the fatal dark energy with a powerful force-shield. His wand core simply glowed like a blue fallen star from the incredible strength of his protection spell, lighting up his face; his eyes were not twinkling, his lips not smiling, his whole countenance blatantly screamed: _if you want him, you will have to get past me, and I WILL FIGHT till my last breath!_

_ Seems that I have been wrong__ about the old fool after all. _Voldemort inwardly mused. _I had thought that that the boy was nothing more than a toy, a tool, a weapon to him, but I was wrong. He really does care for the boy, cares so much that he will kill anyone who hurts so much as a single hair on the boy's head. I can see it clearly on his disgusting ugly old face. Well…it matters not. Nothing can defy the might of my powers or stand in my way! Yes, NOT EVEN ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! _

Gritting his teeth, Voldemort started to gather the dark energy that Dumbledore's force-shield deflected back at him into a ball of incandescent light, imbuing more and more of his strength, his hatred, and his rage into the magic. With the dramatic scream of a madman and a monster, Voldemort unleashed the power of the energy ball, sending its might in all directions. The force of the spell was such that the atrium was destroyed, Dumbledore was knocked down, and Harry shrank back in fear and amazement.

All the windows shattered, the shards of glass ripping to pieces the banner that was like a half-length portrait of Cornelius Fudge. It was like a rain of silver and crystal.

Voldemort then worked his last attack.

Levitating and gathering all the shards of broken glass with his wand, he sent them hurling at Dumbledore and Harry, fully expecting to gloat his eyes on the delicious sight of his two bitterest foes being torn to pieces. He gave a low victorious laugh.

But Dumbledore, ever ready, held out his wand.

Another force-shield materialized, one that glowed white instead of blue.

As the glass pieces passed through the force-shield, they reverted to sand; the soft, pure white sand of Caribbean beaches. The sandy, breezy onslaught poured over Dumbledore and Harry like a large tidal wave, forcing them to shield their eyes and turn away.

Voldemort's laugh turned into a hiss of anger as the old man and the boy rose to their feet, completely unharmed. The expression on Dumbledore's face seemed to shout: _is that the best you can do?_

_ This is not working. _Voldemort thought to himself. _This is so not working. What should I do now?_

Then…his twisted, shriveled mind hatched a plan. It was not over _yet. _He still had _one final card _left to play.

But it had to be played delicately…and carefully…

In a whirl of black sand, Lord Voldemort vanished.

As he watched the monster that had been his worst enemy, his worst nightmare since babyhood disappear, Harry was beginning to understand, more than ever, why Dumbledore was universally acknowledged as the one and only wizard that Voldemort was afraid of; when aroused, the old man really _was _a most formidable wizard, a foe that no enemy should _ever _underestimate, not to mention he really packed powers: serious, potent, spectacular, _breathtaking _powers. Then, suddenly, a razor-sharp, indefinable pain shot through Harry. His face went an impossible shade of white.

He fell to the ground.

Dumbledore turned around…and paled upon seeing his favourite boy on the ground, grimacing in pain, as if something was ripping his insides apart. He quickly knelt down so he could see Harry eye-to-eye. "Harry? Harry?"

Harry lifted his head up, but his eyes were not their usual warm, gentle, sparkling shade of dark green; instead, they were of a pale green that was cold, ruthless, and dead. "You've lost the battle after all, old man." The high, cold voice of Lord Voldemort spoke through Harry. Dumbledore's eyes widened, his mouth fell slightly open as he realised what was going on: Voldemort was attempting to possess Harry through the connection they shared.

_Get out of my mind, you monster! _Harry, never one to give up without his best fight, tried to force Voldemort out. He writhed and twisted, cried and panted…

_His world suddenly went strange. __Images flashed in front of him…almost faster than he could follow…his beautiful and golden mother, carrying a one-year-old version of himself protectively by the right arm, slamming the door of his bedroom on Voldemort with a scream…his brave, confident, and strong father being killed by a well-aimed Avada Kedavra…Dementors hovering towards him, eager to feast on the inner darkness that he had in overabundance due to his lonely, insecure, miserable childhood…Mr. Weasley, the man who had actually been a father to him in so many ways, being attacked by Nagini…Voldemort materializing…_

"Harry…" said Dumbledore.

But Harry could not hear him; he was in too much pain.

_So weak…_Voldemort taunted with a sneer in his mind.

_He saw himself sitting all alone in front of the fire__ in the Gryffindor Common Room…_

_So vulnerable…_

_He was sitting on the edge of his bed, stretching his neck…then he was standing in front of a tall, large, wide mirror that, to his horror, reflected not his face, but the red-eyed, chalk-white, snakelike face of Voldemort…"Look at me!" said the evil face. "So…like…you…"…_

Harry gave a cry of pain, horror, and despair. As much as he hated to admit it, Voldemort really had a point.

They were, undeniably, unarguably, alike.

Both of them were half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles, the only two Paselmouths to come to Hogwarts since Slytherin himself. Both of them had similar qualities: resourcefulness, determination, and a disregard for rules. Merlin, both of them even, once upon a time, looked alike – he knew that Voldemort had dark glossy hair and dark green eyes that mirrored his before undergoing numerous dangerous, magical transformations that resulted in him becoming the bald, red-eyed, slit-nosed, chalk-white, ugly monster that he was now.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke in his soft, warm, tender voice. "It isn't how you are alike. It's how you're not. Remember what I once told you: it is not our abilities that show us for what we really are. It is our choices. You have a very great capacity to love, Harry, despite having suffered a miserable childhood of neglect. You are fiercely loyal to and protective of your friends and loved ones, you would willingly die for them if you have to. And that, Harry, is what makes you so different, so extremely different from Voldemort."

_But how is my ability to love going to help me now? _Harry asked himself. He cannot even move a single hair now, from the pain.

It was then that he spotted his friends – Ron, Hermione, Cedric, Ginny, Neville, and Luna – all watching him.

_They must have tagged along for the rescuing ride when they found out that I had been kidnapped…__they shouldn't have…oh, they shouldn't have…they could have gotten themselves killed…_

Ron had a bleeding cut on his face, Hermione had a cut lip, and Cedric had wounds on either side of his face and neck. All three appeared to be dirtier and more battered than the others, but Harry did not care about their appearances; the expressions of concern, fear, and worry for him touched him.

Something was happening. Despite the pain, Harry could feel his heart warming…beating again. The indescribable chill that seemed to be threatening to freeze every fiber of his body into ice just a second ago was now fading, little by little. _His world went strange again…visions of the past, one after another, flashed across his mind…Hermione, restored back to normal from her Petrified state, joyfully ran into his arms and hugged him as tightly as she could…Ron and him exchanging mutual smiles…him breaking into sobs of released pain and renewed joy as his resurrected parents enveloped him in the softest, gentlest, warmest embrace he had ever had…his mother sponging his feverish face with cool water, while singing a lullaby to him in a haunting low voice, chasing away the nightmares that, though no fault of his own, had been part of his life since the early days of his childhood…his father strolling along with him the gardens of his new home, a smile on his face as he massaged his glossy dark hair, then slowly slipping a hand into his, its warmth gentle and soothing, assuring him that he was not alone and unloved anymore…Sirius and him hugging before the Black Family Tree, assuring each other that neither of them were alone or friendless or unwanted…Cedric and him confiding in each other the ups and downs of their lives…Cedric confessing his love for him under the mistletoe, proceeding to kiss him passionately…the eleven-year-old versions of Ron and Hermione waving at him from the stairs, delight written all over their features at seeing him healthy and well, fully recovered from his first encounter with Voldemort…the thirteen-year-old versions of Ron, Hermione, and himself laughing merrily in the snow at the pranks he had played on Malfoy and his goons while wearing his Invisibility Cloak…the present versions of them sitting in front of him, Ron looked highly amused while Hermione laughed cheerily – their reactions upon learning how he reacted after sharing his first kiss with Cedric…_

The sight of his dearest friends had reminded him of all the happiness, all the wonderful times he had shared with them; their concern, their care, their love for him had sent him strength and hope, and he had embraced them…like friends…his heart filled and swelled with emotions that Voldemort would never understand. Now, he understood, more than ever, the incomparable power and beauty of love and friendship. He understood, more than ever, the drastic difference between him and Voldemort.

"You are the weak one." Harry said, with a firm and controlled calm that made the Voldemort in his mind pause in his assault in confusion. The pain had, miraculously, been diminished, if only a little, making breathing easier. "You _are _the weak one, Riddle, not me, not anyone else, _you._ You will never understand that there are things so much worse than death. You will never know love or friendship, two of the most beautiful, most wonderful, most _powerful _kinds of magic the world have ever known. And I pity you for that. I feel sorry for you."

_Images flashed before his eyes again…faster than his mind could digest…Dementors retreating with strange growl-like noises of rage and despair…Dumbledore hugging him as a grandfather would his favourite grandson, tears rolling down the old, wise, gentle face as aged hands soothed the night-dark hair with a gentleness that was surprising even for a benevolent man like him…him furiously, determinedly smashing the mirror that reflected not his face, but the cruel hateful face of the monster called Voldemort…him sitting in front of his bedroom mirror, with his father brushing his hair, then wrapping strong arms around him as he rested his head on his shoulder, smiling at him that special magical smile of love and warmth through his mirrored image, then kissing his temple and whispered words of comfort and assurance in his ear…his mother, as beautiful and serene as ever, tucking the blankets more comfortably about him, brushing the hair off his forehead with the gentleness of a devoted mother, pressing a sweet kiss to the lightning-shaped scar that had been both curse and blessing to him, whispering repeated words of love, warmth, comfort and assurance…Sirius enveloping him in a fierce, protective hug, relief and love written all over his face, and a radiant delighted smile on his lips, while Remus stood nearby, watching them fondly, looking younger and far happier than anyone had ever seen in him…_

The next thing Harry knew, he let out a razor-sharp cry of intense agony…then it was over.

The pain was gone.

But he was so sad, so exhausted, so weakened that he cannot move at all.

His brow was severely beaded with perspiration. His face was as white as a sheet, and his breathing was heavily laboured – forcing the most powerful Dark wizard of all time out of his mind and body and soul had been excruciatingly painful, and absolutely draining, it truly was something of a miracle that he was still alive, still breathing, still conscious, how ever barely. His summer-green eyes, though dimmed and tired, were still alert, and took in the sight of Lord Voldemort materializing above him.

Voldemort stared down at Harry in absolute contempt, long white fingers sliding across the smooth length of his wand as though he was preparing to perform another deadly curse, his ruby-red eyes, however, betrayed a slight, very slight hint of bewilderment and shock that a mere fifteen-year-old boy was able to deny him possession simply by employing those pathetic, worthless, utterly useless emotions known as faith, love, and friendship. He had, once upon a time, firmly deemed such emotions as nothing more than filth and dirt, abominations of nature, the lowest and most shameful of mortal weaknesses. Now, however, he was beginning to wonder what exactly they were, and why the crackpot old fool Dumbledore always insisted that they were far more powerful than his kind of magic. _If they were not filth, waste, and dirt, then what are they? What are they? What kind of magical powers do they possess? Are they really able to outmatch me, the greatest sorcerer of all time? How is it that this thorn in my flesh is always able to escape my clutches, a feat no other wizard or witch has ever accomplished, simply by having an overabundance of such…such…such…things?! _For a wizard who had pushed the boundaries of Dark magic further than they had ever been pushed, and who had penetrated more secrets than, arguably, any other wizard alive, Voldemort was beginning to think that Harry James Potter was a secret that he could never uncover, a mystery that he was doomed to be forever powerless to solve, but equally doomed with a ruthless passionate determination to solve.

"You _are _a fool, Harry Potter." He said at last, in a tone of voice barely above a whisper. His lips were curled in the purely evil smile that was his trademark. "You simply _are_. And you will lose everything. I swear it." _Yes, I will not rest; will not stop until this thorn in my flesh is rid of utterly or at least broken beyond all repair…_he raised his wand, but lowered it when the flashes of green fire in the fireplaces announced the arrival of Ministry employees.

As quick as lightning, Voldemort Disapparated in a whirlwind of sand.

But it was too late.

Cornelius Fudge's face was a classic portrait of stunned horror, so much so that one might have been moved to laugh had the situation not been so grave or so serious. Percy Weasley behind him was staring with wide eyes and a half-opened mouth, his usually pompous face now as pale as a corpse. The other Ministry employees were openly staring as well, disbelief, bewilderment, and fear written on every face as they registered what they had just seen and on the present scene before them.

The stunned silence was finally broken by Fudge's: "He's…back…"


	2. Chapter 2

_ Neither can live while the other survives…neither can live while the other survives…neither can live while the other survives…neither can live while the other survives…_

_ "I can't believe that Mr. and Mrs. Potter are talking about withdrawing Harry from Ho__gwarts, and that Mom, Sirius, and even Remus are supporting their decision."_

_ "Think about it, Ron. Harry has been through hell – literally – this whole year ever since it started. Mr. and Mrs. Potter are only acting like any other concerned and frightened – yes, Ron, frightened – parents would, after their son was kidnapped from a place where he was supposed to be perfectly, absolutely, one-hundred-percent safe, and almost killed. We can hardly blame th__em for wanting to protect Harry, with Voldemort so powerful now and coming so close to killing Harry this time. They only want to keep Harry safe. They only want what is best for Harry."_

_ "For Merlin's sake, Hermione, don't tell me you agree with them too!!! Yes, I would admit that Harry was not as safe and protected at Hogwarts as everyone believed that he would be, but caging him up like a bird at home forever is not the right way, either!!! Can you imagine a Hogwarts without Harry, Hermione?! Can you imagine never seeing Harry again?!"_

_ "You both have excellent points, but for Merlin's sake, stop this now. Now is not the time to argue. Harry. Needs. His. Rest."_

_ "Yeah, calm down, or Madam Pomfrey will bustle in and have us thrown out. Now is not the time or place to argue. Harry needs all the peace and quiet and rest he can get, he does not need the burden of the incessant, relentless warring between you two."_

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence before Luna's voice broke it. _"The anxious and impatient lose their guiding thread. The pure and tranquil see harm and are not frightened. Those who do not leave their beds are not always safe."_

_ "Luna's right. Hermione, Ginny, Cedric, I'm sorry, but I am with Ron and Luna on this one. Harry is going to be fine and he will be coming back to Hogwarts next year, he has to. He must. He himself has told us that Hogwarts was where he had been happiest, the first and – originally – only place he had felt at home, and he cannot just give up an attachment as special and strong as that. Besides, none of us can imagine a Hogwarts without Harry. We will all miss him, and besides…I think we all agree that…when we're with him, we're actually at home." _

_ "I know that, Neville, we all do. But I think that the final decision does not lie with us, or even with his parents, it li__es with him, and I trust that he would make the right one. He is, after all, Harry."_

Harry could not help but groan as he tried to move. The sour ache that instantly shot through his entire being, however, told him that even the slightest movement was not welcomed by his body – and truth be told – his mind currently preferred very much to be blank and empty and back to the land of nod as well, not to mention that the bed he was lying in was as soft, warm, and comfortable as can be. But now that he was awake, it would be a _real_ chore for him to go back to sleep, and besides, a part of him knew beyond a trace of doubt that he would be confined to his bed, or at the very least, his bedroom, for the long summer holidays.

The thought of being either bedridden or grounded for nine long weeks was utterly unappealing to Harry James Potter, but he knew that he had neither choice nor say in the matter, and all he could do was to cross his fingers and hope for the best.

Slowly, very slowly, Harry opened his eyes…and was greeted by the blurry figures of Ron, Hermione, Cedric, Ginny, Luna, and Neville looking down at him.

Harry felt his world come into focus as someone slipped his glasses on his face, allowing him to see them clearly.

Their faces – even Luna's – were all pale, grave, and extremely exhausted, making Harry wonder what they had gone through while he had been unconscious. Hermione's and Ginny's eyes were red and puffy, as if they had been crying recently. The dreamy twinkle was gone from Luna's eyes, and they looked unusually sad and solemn. Ron and Neville both looked sick, very sick, as if a simple gust of wind could blow them away like leaves. The violet-dark shadows under Cedric's eyes and the unhealthy, startling pallor of his face brought thoughts of the state that Remus was always in after the full moon to Harry's mind.

_Oh…guys…I am sorry that I put you all through that…I am sorry…so, so sorry… _

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Cedric asked gently, a hint of joy and relief in his tone as he took hold of his hand, holding it tightly. Harry could only respond with a smile that said: "Exhausted. Very exhausted." Cedric nodded. "Naturally. It will be surprising, actually, if you weren't. Dumbledore told us."

"By the way, your parents, Sirius, and Remus wanted us to tell you they will back soon." Ron said, attempting a brave grin. "Fudge is in Dumbledore's office right now, being filled in everything. I think your parents, Sirius, and Remus are going to hex him into oblivion once Dumbledore's done. They're, they're so angry, Harry."

"And rightfully so," Hermione said, a furious scowl on her drained, exhausted face. "Fudge deserves nobody's sympathy or pity, not after everything he's done. Not after what he has put us – especially Harry – through. I am personally overjoyed that he has now been publicly exposed to the wizarding world as an incompetent, idiotic, paranoid, hopeless buffoon of a Minister, who surrounds himself with people as irredeemable and foolish as he is."

"Out of the mouths of babes," Neville said quietly. "Fudge's name is mud throughout the wizarding world these days. I have heard that the Ministry is now bombarded with Howlers on a daily basis, and that everyone working there is in danger of either going deaf or being burned to death. But there _is_ a piece of good news for us, Harry: it will only be a matter of time before Fudge is sacked. The entire wizarding community has been screaming – literally – for his resignation since word got out of the whole, you know, you-being-kidnapped-and-taken-to Department of Mysteries incident."

Ginny nodded, her nostrils flared. "What goes around comes around. Personally, if you ask me, being sacked is too light a punishment for someone like him, I would prefer him being shipped off to Azkaban, since he has, in a way, proven himself to be as bad as Voldemort and the Death Eaters."

Cedric sighed. "Too bad that's not going to happen. Being sacked is the _very _worst thing that can happen to him, but enough talk of him, it would only make us angrier and more miserable. And Harry does not need any of that right now." He brushed a few strands of night-black hair away from Harry's forehead, which was lightly beaded with perspiration. "Sorry, Harry, for getting carried away; guess our grievance with Fudge was more passionate than we had thought."

"And for good reason," Luna quipped, traces of her usual distant, dreamy self now evident in her voice. "But your parents, your godfather, and your god-uncle will be most relieved and pleased that their _Sleeping Beauty _has finally come round from his three-day-coma, Harry, they have been so worried."

"So were we, Harry, so were we." Ron said, his grin dying away. "Dumbledore has placed a restriction of some kind on the hospital wing. Apart from those who are related to you or know you really well, no one was allowed. The entire D.A. has been asking us how you're doing. You really scared us, mate."

"I am sorry." Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper – so weak and drained was he. He knew that he will never be able to share his experience with them, and he did not want to. He realised – and not for the first time – how different he was from them: he had been, however briefly, possessed by Voldemort, his worst enemy, the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time. He had been violated in ways more profound and more lasting than any physical harm Voldemort could have done to him. It was a memory that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life, or, at the very least, a long, long time. The chill, the pain, the horror, that indescribable, terrifying sensation of not being able to control your own body, your own mind, and your own voice were still fresh and they frightened him.

As if reading his thoughts, Ginny stepped forward and took his other hand in hers, a very kind and understanding smile on her face. "Harry, I know what it is like. I have not forgotten that damn diary and I never will. You feel dirty, you feel violated, you feel as if you have been raped in a way, you feel downright miserable. But it _will_ get better. It will definitely take time, but you _will _get better, you _will _recover, I promise. Am I not a living example?"

"Ginny's right, Harry, it will get better." Cedric said, now smiling gently at him. "Take one step at a time, and know that we will be with you every step of the way; you're not alone and you never will be."

"Exactly, Harry, exactly." Hermione added, trying to smile. "We'll always be here when you need us."

"Expect us to stick to you like plasters for a long, long, long time, mate." Ron said.

Neville grinned broadly. "Think your parents will object to us – a young, fresh, still-inexperienced Auror and five immature, reckless students – appointing ourselves your official bodyguards?"

Luna looked strangely thoughtful. "Are there any spare rooms in your house for us? This summer is going to be a long, hot, lazy one and we need to keep ourselves – especially you – active and cool and quick-witted. And I can always help read you to sleep and chase away any Boogymen under your bed."

Harry stared at them long and silent for several moments before his lips curled into a genuine, heartfelt smile.

"Thank you all."

The sound of the door opening broke the quiet, yet heartwarming atmosphere. Cedric, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna spun around, blocking Harry's view of who had just entered. Ginny, on his other side, looked up…and tightened her grip on his hand as her dark brown eyes went wide with recognition, then narrowed in unmistakable anger; her pretty face, framed by a waterfall of rich, lustrous dark red hair, went from a picture of understanding and tenderness and warmth with a tinge of exhaustion and concern to a pale, fierce mask of wrath and fury, her other hand clenched into a tight fist, ready to deliver a painful punch. It was then that Harry heard wands being pulled out.

_What is going on? Why is everyone like this all of a sudden? Who is it? Who is it? _

"Ladies and gentlemen, there is no need for this. I assure you all, I come in peace," said a voice from the door, a voice that Harry had grown to loathe. He felt a dark sensation bubbling at the pit of his stomach. _It couldn't be…couldn't be…could it?_

"There are some things that I _must _say to Harry here. I know perfectly well that I am not welcome here, but there are things that I _must _say, _I have to._ I give you my word that I mean you all, especially Harry, no harm. And I will leave as soon as I am done."

"You may." Harry said, before any of his friends could say anything, a quiet dignified calmness in his tone. "Just be quick about it. I am utterly exhausted and I do not wish to drag this any longer."

Most unwillingly, his friends parted like the waves of the Red Sea, giving Harry a clear view of the most unwelcomed visitor.

True enough, it was Cornelius Fudge.

The pompous, unfriendly, arrogant look was gone from his face, which was, surprisingly, paler and more exhausted than Harry's dearest friends (no doubt the work of the wizarding community and media), his hair greyer and thinner, and his usually-immaculate clothes now shabby: a shadow of his once paranoid, haughty self. Despite his deep-rooted loathing of the man who had caused him nothing but trouble and pain, Harry could not help but feel a twinge of pity for him, knowing that Fudge was, inevitably, doomed to go down in history as the man who, as Dumbledore said, allowed Voldemort to run free, doomed to go down in history as one of the least effective Ministers of Magic.

"Have a seat." Harry said, with a calm he did not feel.

Fudge let out a heavy sigh as he sank, weak-kneed, into the chair that had been occupied by Cedric moments ago. On closer inspection, Harry noted that the man's small piggy eyes were more tired and duller than he had realised. Neville and Luna were watching him quietly, stony-faced and wholly unsympathetic. Ron's freckled face was the exact replica of his younger sister's: a corpse-pale mask of rage that was costing every ounce of his self-control to suppress. His hands were clenched into tight – very tight fists, as if desperately inching to punch. Hermione looked as though she could spit razor-sharp nails, her hands clenching and unclenching, as if eager to be wrapped around someone's neck and strangle that person to death. Cedric, with his brown hair unruly, his silver-grey eyes blazing, his handsome face grimy, looked absolutely murderous, his countenance holding an expression of untamed rage, his right hand fingering his wand threateningly, as if contemplating what curse he should use on Fudge.

At the moment, it could not be more obvious that the six of them were ready to beat Fudge into a bloody, battered pulp or even kill him, and all Harry needed to do was to give the word.

But Harry did not wish Fudge dead.

No, not really.

"Harry, I would like to apologise on behalf of myself and the rest of the Ministry for all the ridicule and slander that you have suffered. Here are two letters, one an official apology and the other of compensation settlements." Fudge had the shame to blush as he said the last sentence. Ron snorted.

Since Harry was so weak, Cedric took the two scrolls of parchment from Fudge and held them, one after another, in front of Harry so he could have a scan through them.

True enough; the first piece was an official apology from the Ministry for their foolish, idiotic actions last year, signed by Fudge himself. The second piece was about compensations: Harry's father, godfather, and god-uncle had all been awarded _Order of Merlin, First Class_, and the enormous sum of one million Galleons was already deposited at the Potters' vault at Gringotts.

Harry could only wonder how his parents, Sirius, and Remus reacted to this.

It was so blatantly obvious that none of the four of them cared for wealth or prestige or position. These "peace offerings" would not do any good: they were like sprinkling salt on still-festering wounds, serve to infuriate them further.

That Fudge was sitting before him, very much alive and relatively unscathed, was a miracle itself; Dumbledore must have done something to prevent the four of them from cursing Fudge to oblivion or blasting Fudge into smithereens.

"Thank you, Minister." Harry said at last, as politely as he could. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes. The entire wizarding community now knows that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned and is once more active. Dumbledore is once again a member of the International Confederation of Wizards and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot."

Harry nodded, clearly pleased. Everything was finally going back to normal. "That's good and natural. Is there anything else?"

Fudge took a deep breath. "Yes. Is there anything else I can do for you, Harry?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Fudge took a deeper, sharper breath. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Harry? Anything else that you will like me to do? All you have to do is say it, and it will be done, I assure you."

Harry stared long and hard at Fudge for several moments, as if studying the man like a book. Then he shook his head. "No, there's nothing. Nothing at all, but thanks for asking. Now, if you don't mind, Minister, I want to rest. I am exhausted."

Fudge looked as if he wanted to argue, but then thought better of it and nodded. "I understand. I will leave you to your rest. I wish you a speedy recovery, Harry, and hope to find you in better health and better spirits the next time we meet."

_I hope that I will never meet you again. I will definitely fall ill and exhausted and mean-spirited if I ever meet you again. _Harry thought wryly, though he kept his face as polite and indifferent as he could, and nodded. His friends all rolled their eyes in disgust and contempt. If they had their way, Harry would never see the hide or hair of Cornelius Fudge ever again.

Harry let out a sigh of intense relief when the door shut. He had not been joking or trying to drive Fudge away when he said that he was exhausted. He _was _exhausted, thoroughly and completely exhausted.

As if reading his thoughts, Ron and Hermione herded everyone out of the hospital wing (they had to drag Cedric and Ginny almost by wand-point) after telling Harry to get some sleep.

But Harry did not. Despite his fatigue, his mind was too preoccupied. He simply stared up at the ceiling, trying his best not to think of anything, but it was impossible. _Where is Voldemort now? _He wondered._ What is he intending to do now that everyone knows that he is indeed back? _

At the moment, Harry was only absolutely certain of three things.

One: a new war had begun.

Two: Voldemort will never rest until he had killed him.

Three: at the very end, either he will kill Voldemort or Voldemort will kill him, for, as the prophecy clearly stated, _neither can live while the other survives…_

Harry didn't know how long he stared at the ceiling, trapped in a mental maze of contemplating Voldemort's whereabouts, his intentions, his next moves, his ruthless, deadly obsession with him, the new wizarding war, which will definitely be no less dark and devastating and bloody than the previous one, and the prophecy that bound him and Voldemort together. Right now, it seemed like he was simply hanging onto his sanity. When the intensely sympathetic, deeply concerned faces of his parents, his godfather, and his god-uncle came into his line of sight, all Harry could do was give a little tentative smile. There was nothing he could say. Was there?

Before Harry knew it, his mother had pulled him into a tender, loving embrace. "Don't worry, Harry," she said gently. "In just a few days we'll be home, away from all of this. I know you feel terrible. I know you feel miserable. But the pain and the horror will subside with time, like Ginny said. You are not alone in this, Harry, and you never will. You have us."

Harry did not make a sound, but the way his body drew closer to his mother's and his chin leaning more downwards on her back spoke volumes. His father, James, patted his dark head gently and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, reminding the boy that he was not alone in all this…and he never will be.

The next thing Harry knew he heard the sound of growls.

Angry growls. Very, very angry growls.

The growls of his father and godfather.

Fear shot through Harry like a bullet. He started to shake. His father and godfather never growled unless there was something that was a danger. His wand was not with him, and, in the first place, he was so drained and exhausted that even the slightest bit of magic was absolutely impossible for him, so how was he supposed to put up some sort of fight when he couldn't do anything?

"Harry, calm down," said the soft, melodic voice that belonged to his mother, Lily. Her dainty white hand was going up and down his back soothingly, trying to calm his overcharged nerves down. "There is nothing to worry about. You are safe here. Your father and godfather just have some…unresolved issues with _someone_."

Remus nodded, patting Harry's shoulder, a gentle reassuring smile on his face. "That's right, Harry, calm down. You're safe here. Prongs, Padfoot, that's enough." He warned with a low growl of his own. "Attacking him now will not change or fix anything. It will only make things worse. Besides, you two are scaring our Harry."

James and Sirius sighed and lowered their wands.

"I am sorry, Harry," said Sirius quietly, his striking blue-grey eyes still flashing with unmistakable anger despite the sincerity of his tone and the warm gentle expression on his handsome face as he surveyed his beloved godson. "Just got carried away. Didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah, sorry, Prongslet, didn't mean to scare you, I swear. It's just…" James turned towards the foot of the bed, his gaze now dark and wrathful, with his hazel-brown eyes narrowed dangerously, his full lips set in a tight unfriendly line. "There is someone who should not be allowed to be near you right now."

If Harry hadn't known better, the tone of his father's voice suggested that that _someone _should be barred from seeing him forever.

And he had an inkling as to who that _someone _was.

He disengaged himself from his mother's arms and took a good look.

True enough, it was the man he, despite everything, still loved as an all-knowing grandfather who can always be counted on for comfort and advice: Albus Dumbledore. He looked older and more tired than Harry had ever seen; the twinkle was gone from his blue eyes, which were, surprisingly, very red and puffy, as if the old wizard had been crying bitterly for several days and nights, the kind enigmatic smile was gone from his lips, which were paler than ever, his countenance held an expression of woe and remorse.

_Oh…Professor…_

"James, Lily, Sirius, Remus," Professor Dumbledore said exhaustedly, "You have every right to be angry with me. I promised to protect Harry, that he would be perfectly safe here, and I was wrong, I failed. I can only apologise so many times. Nothing I can do will change what happened. The only thing we can do now is move on."

"Easier said than done, Dumbledore, easier said than done," Lily said quietly, her perfectly beautiful face now so cold that it looked though it had been craved from ice. Remus snorted angrily, his eyes going from their normal warm shade of blue to amber-gold – an unmistakable sign that the wolf was close to the surface.

It was then that Harry realised that his mother and god-uncle were no less angry and upset with Dumbledore than his father and godfather were; it was just that their anger was of a different sort, being quiet and cold while his father's and godfather's rage was loud and fiery. And both of them knew that violence against the old wizard would not solve anything. But that they were so angry and so upset with Dumbledore was a real, genuine surprise to Harry, for the two of them had always gotten along very well with the Headmaster of Hogwarts – better, indeed, than James and Sirius. And now…it seemed like Dumbledore was crossed off their Christmas list forever…or at least, for a long, long time.

"Believe it or not, I love and care for Harry as much as you all do," Professor Dumbledore said. "I did not mean for any of this to happen, I swear it."

"You did not mean for a lot of things to happen, Dumbledore, and yet they still happened." Remus pointed out, his tone cold.

"And our Harry always ends up at the receiving end." Sirius added sharply. "Harry has been nearly killed every _single _year he's been at Hogwarts."

"Just go, Dumbledore, for goodness' sake, just go." James said without looking at the old wizard whom he once loved as a father, a long slender finger pointing at the door. "My Prongslet will have none of your bile or your crap or your poisoned honey right now. So just go. If you really love and care for him as much as us, as much as you say you do, just go. Just leave my Prongslet in peace."

With what little strength he could muster in his weakened state, Harry moved his hand, gently brushing his father's arm. Startled, James turned to look at his son…and gave a sigh of defeat when he saw the plea in his son's exhausted eyes. Harry obviously did not want any fights right now. He did not want anyone to get angrier or more upset than they already were because of him.

"We give you fifteen minutes, Dumbledore, no more, no less." Lily said finally, a resigned expression on her lovely face. She knew that, sooner or later, her beloved boy and Dumbledore were going to have _this chat_, and the sooner it was over and done with, the better for them all. Sirius looked as though he wanted to argue, but at the warning, half-hearted glances from his two dearest friends, and the plea in his godson's tired, dulled eyes, he kept silent, and contented himself with glaring darkly at Dumbledore.

With a sigh, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the leader of the Order of the Phoenix stepped forward and took Harry's hand in his. "I know nothing I say or do could make up for everything that you have been forced to endure, Harry," he said gravely. "You trusted me to keep you safe and I have failed so miserably."

Harry shook his head and gave him a little smile. "You could not have foreseen this, Professor. I know you wanted none of this to happen," he said weakly.

The silver-white head shook firmly. "I should have taken better care of you. Of everything," Dumbledore insisted gently, trying to smile himself. "You are too forgiving, Harry, pardoning this old man for his mistakes again and again. I had thought that I was protecting you, by keeping the prophecy concerning you and Voldemort a secret, but I was wrong. If I had been honest with you, and told you everything right from the start, then perhaps you will not be in this state."

_"Indeed."_ Sirius hissed under his breath, earning himself a glare from Remus. James and Lily exchanged inscrutable looks.

Harry shrugged. "Professor Trelawney has been predicting my death for years." He said, changing the course of guilt and apology to one that was supposed to be their main concern. "I had thought her a fraud. I had thought that she could not make a real, genuine prediction even if her life depended on it, but now…"

"Sybill's _real, proper _predictions may be rare, extremely rare, and everything that you have seen of her and had undergone in her classes has given you every right to be skeptical and disbelieving of her, Harry, but I assure you, her prophecy regarding you and Voldemort is genuine, as genuine as the one she made concerning Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort two years ago."

"Is it really me then, Professor?" Harry asked, albeit timidly. In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew the answer. "Is it really me? Is it possible that it might be someone else…?"

"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly, his grip on Harry's hand tightening. "I am afraid that there is no doubt that it is you. There was another boy who had also been born towards the end of July, and also had parents who defied Voldemort three times, but he was not marked. He is none other than your good friend, Neville."

"But – but why? Why did he choose to mark _me_, Professor?" Harry asked.

"He probably thought that you were more likely to be a danger to him, Harry," said Dumbledore. "He chose not the pure-blood, but the half-blood, like himself. You can say that, in a way, he saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you extraordinary powers, and a future beyond one's wildest imagination, which have fitted you to escape him not only once, but four times so far – a feat that neither your parents nor Neville's parents had ever accomplished."

"He himself created his worst enemy, just like any other tyrant." Remus reasoned, now smiling. "He picked out Harry from all the rest, and even handed Harry the weapons he needed."

"An ignorant, foolish madman is what he truly is." James added.

"Only one of us will emerge a victor and survivor, right? The prophecy said…_neither can live while the other survives…_it means one of us is going to have to kill the other, in the end, right, Professor?"

"Yes."

Harry stared at the old man whom he saw as the grandfather he never had. "This is unbelievable, Professor, simply unbelievable," he said at last. "_He will have power the Dark Lord knows not? _That is so not true. I am just only your everyday fifteen-year-old wizard, young, ignorant, foolish, and even reckless at times. I don't have any powers he has, I couldn't fight the way he did with you at the Department of Mysteries, and I couldn't possess people or kill them as mercilessly as he can."

Dumbledore shook his head, now smiling gently, reassuringly at Harry. "But you do, Harry, you do. You _do _have a power that Voldemort will never understand and will never have. That power was what allowed you to exorcise Voldemort from your body. That power took your friends and family and the Order to come and save you. That power was what that allowed you to remain true and pure of heart, mind, and soul, despite all the temptations you have faced and all the suffering that you have endured. It nourishes your skin; it flows along with the blood in your veins, it lives –" he placed a hand on Harry's chest, directly at the spot where his heart was located. "In here."

"It is love, isn't it? I can love…but Voldemort cannot."

Dumbledore nodded. "Exactly, Harry, exactly. Love is the greatest of all powers. It is the one magic that evokes the strongest emotions, transcends all norms, and defies all odds, even death. Love triumphs…always. Voldemort is what he is because he does not know and can never understand it, and he thinks us all fools for having this ability, but it is actually _he _who is the greatest fool of all. And now…is time for you to get back to rest, Harry. I am afraid that I have exceeded my fifteen-minute-allowance with you."

"Not exactly, Dumbledore, not exactly," Lily said, checking her watch. Though her eyes were still flashing, the tone of her voice and the expression on her face revealed that she had lost, at least, some of her anger with Dumbledore. After all, Lily had never been one to stay furiously angry for long, and the intense exhaustion of the red, swollen eyes, and the many wrinkles on the ancient face told her that the Headmaster of Hogwarts had been effectively punishing himself the entire time. Her husband and his dearest friend were, however, still stony-faced, unsympathetic, and intensely critical as they surveyed the old wizard. Remus' was a mixture of exasperation, irritation, and disappointment. "You still have thirty seconds left."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I know when I have overstayed my visit. Besides, Harry needs his rest." Then he did something that surprised them all: he kissed Harry on the forehead, as the most doting of grandfathers would a beloved grandson, whispered something that brought a beautiful rare smile to Harry's face in his ear, then left.

"What did he tell you, Harry?" Remus asked curiously, as he took his god-nephew's hand in his. "What did he say?"

"He said: Do not fear the dangers of the future. I am with you and I always will be. Sweet dreams, my child, I love you."

The next few days passed slowly. Harry eventually recovered his strength and health, thanks to the ever-effective administrations of Madam Pomfrey and the flawlessly constant care of his family and friends, though he doubted that his mentality would ever be as well as it had been before. Aware of how deeply Voldemort's brief possession must have affected Harry, his family and friends sought to divert him from morbid thoughts and sensations of violation with merry stories, games, and even strolls when the weather was good and fine. They toasted whatever they could spear on a fork – bread, crumpets, and marshmallows – by the fire, cracked jokes, and discussed funny topics (an example being Luna's firm belief that the Giant Squid in the Hogwarts Lake was actually the ghost of Godric Gryffindor). Best of all, they kept the overwhelming, endlessly curious student body at bay. Now was not the time for questions. Like Cedric said, Harry needed all the peace and quiet and rest he can get to heal from his ordeal, and he already had more than enough on his plate without everyone swarming on him like fierce, ravenous vultures, demanding answers. Hence, wherever Harry went throughout Hogwarts, he was always with several "hunters", them most of the time being his own parents, or his godfather and god-uncle, and even the most inquisitive magpies dared not approach Harry for fear of incurring the fearsome wrath of overprotective parents and guardians.

The day of the end-of-term feast arrived.

Lily had already packed Harry's trunk and taken it to the Potter Manor. Tomorrow, everyone was to take the train home for the holidays, Harry being one of them; he might have fully recovered but the ever-worried Madam Pomfrey had issued an ultimatum that _no_ magical travel was allowed for Harry for at least three weeks as a "just in case" ("I am taking no chances," she said firmly. "I am actually surprised that the poor boy is back on his feet in such a short time, given how weakened, how delicate, how fragile he was after his encounter with You-Know-Who. If he wants to be perfectly, absolutely, one-hundred-percent healthy and strong again, he'll do as he is told."), meaning the train was Harry's only way home. And Harry had accepted it, surprisingly, without a word of complain or an attempt to protest, knowing that it would come to naught.

Instead of attending the feast, however, Harry will be eating in the dormitory, something that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna had been severely disappointed to hear, but had reluctantly accepted the reasoning behind it – the vast majority of the student body had taken to whispering and chattering and staring at Harry like they did in his first year, as if he was a novelty, an abnormity, only that it was now worse than ever, with not even the slightest regard for his feelings and his current state of mind. And Harry most certainly did not need that right now. He was definitely not ready to face everyone. He had always hated being the center of attention. He always hated being viewed as some actor, some insect, or some fine piece of meat. Besides, who will have a good appetite when everyone – more than a hundred people – is watching him eat?

Harry sat on the enormous, soft, comfortable red velvet armchair before the fireplace, dark green eyes staring into the crackling fire, the warm heat and dancing sparkles bringing him no joy, for he was contemplating everything that had happened this year.

Far too much had happened this year. And no words of comfort or support or encouragement or love could make it seem like nothing had changed, and that everything was going to be fine.

_What am I going to do now? What am I going to do now? What am I going to do now?_

"Galleon for your thoughts?" A light, dreamy voice spoke as Harry felt the gentle tap of a hand on his shoulder. Harry turned.

It was Luna, who appeared to be back to her usual strange, serene, floaty self, with her silver eyes bright with their usual dreamy twinkle, and the mysterious knowing smile on her lips.

"Luna." Harry said, taken by surprise. "Not that I am complaining, but how did you get in here?"

Luna smiled wider. "I have my ways."

_Yes, indeed, Luna has her ways in all things…_

Then her smile faded, her face took on a serious expression that was rare, extremely rare, for her as she sat beside Harry. "Harry, are you all right?"

"I don't know, Luna, I honestly don't know." Harry replied honestly, knowing that any lie was powerless against this unusually perceptive and clever friend of his. "Everything has changed. I don't know what my own life is going to be like now. I don't know what my own future will be (will I even have a future?). I feel as if I have become someone else altogether. And the harder I try not to think about everything that has happened, the more they plague me, the heavier they settle in my mind. I don't know what to do."

Luna took his hand in hers in a firm, yet comforting, grasp. "It is very simple really, Harry. Just open your heart again. Let your soul soar again. Start talking again. It does not have to be what happened if you do not want to talk about all that. We – me, Ron, Hermione, Cedric and the others – all miss talking…chattering…laughing _with _you. Talking _at _you is just not the same."

It was true, very true. These past few days, it had been his friends and family doing nearly all of the merry-storytelling and gaming and joke-cracking and fun-discussing, and it could not be more obvious that Harry had only engaged in it for _their _sake instead _his _own, knowing well that each and everyone of them were doing everything in their power to cheer him up and speed up his mental recovery, and he did not want to disappoint them or dampen their moods. Whenever the flow of fun and wit paused for even a moment Harry reverted back to the unusually grave, deathly quiet, answering-questions-with-shaking-nodding-or-shrugging state that he had been in since Voldemort's possession. It was not that Harry had always been as free-spirited and spontaneous and fun-loving as can be, it was just that nobody can remember him being so quiet, so solemn, so grave, so……unnatural. And they did not like it, not one bit.

"But…silence is my only way of staying in control. If I break it, I might lose it, I might snap, and I getting angry, throwing tantrums, cursing fate and destiny for being so cruel and unfair towards me would only make everything worse."

Luna shook her head. "But you're wrong, Harry, you're wrong. Keeping it all bottled inside is not going to fix anything. It will only make it worse. Everything that you're feeling right now…it's utterly complicated, I know, but it is also natural. It only shows, proves that you are human."

"Then I don't want to be human. Not when this is the price that I have to pay. Not when it is so…so…so…oh…"

Luna shrugged and tapped Harry comfortingly on his shoulder again. "Someone once told me that life was meant to be this way. Life is meant to be difficult and painful and unfair. But one still has to move on. You can get angry about it, cry about it, grieve about it, but you still have to move on. Because…no matter how twisted fate and destiny might seem, it is only temporary; at the end of the day, they are kind. They really are. No longer how unbelievable it might be, they _will _bring peace and joy and bliss to those who love, who have faith in their hearts, and who believe in a much, much better tomorrow."

Harry looked up and stared into her face, pools of emerald meeting molten silver. "Who told you that?"

Luna smiled. "My Mom."

Harry could not help but smile. "Your Mom is a very wise woman."

Luna chuckled. "Oh, she is, Harry, she is. I wish I could introduce you and the others to here, but that it is impossible for…say, another hundred years? Well, that's all from me. I think I will just go have some pudding."

"Luna…thank you."

"No problem. I was glad to help in any way I can. Start living again, Harry, just start living again. Cry, throw a tantrum, hurl abuses at fate and destiny if you must, but start living again. See you."

She left, leaving Harry alone.

The following morning was a bright early one, with promises of good fine weather…and a real pleasant surprise.

"Morning, Prongslet," James said, pressing a kiss on his son's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

He had taken to asking that question for the past few days, and the quiet, almost indifferent responses he received always pained and disappointed him, and caused his anger towards Dumbledore to flare up like a bundle of fire. It was all, if not most of, the fault of the foolish, weak old man, whom he once loved and looked up to as his own father, but was now thoroughly disappointed and furiously angry with. Unbeknownst to his son, ever since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, he and Sirius had been engaging in heated, violent arguments with the Hogwarts staff – mainly Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore – over whether Harry should be returning to Hogwarts or not for his last two years, and it was all Lily and Remus could do to keep the arguments from evolving into fierce duels (though it was blatantly obvious that they were torn in the matter, and were deeply upset and outraged with the situation, just like James and Sirius were). It was times like these that made it quite clear why James was able to defy Voldemort himself three times, and why people could believe that Sirius had murdered twelve men; James Potter and Sirius Black were formidable characters, at their fiercest and worst when it came to their loved ones.

Indeed, it was something of a miracle that Dumbledore's office was still intact and in fine normal state.

"Better," the unexpected, surprising answer came. "A little better, I think. It is going to a beautiful, warm, glorious summer for us, isn't it, Daddy?"

James' hazel-brown eyes lit up, his lips curled into a delighted, relieved smile, and he gently stroked his son's glossy black hair. Today, his son appeared to be in better looks and better spirits. His young handsome face was less grave; his exotic dark green eyes had regained some of their usual light, there was a little colour in his cheeks, and his smile was warm and genuine, though it did bear some strain, a hint of tentativeness, but it was enough for James. _A baby step,_ he mused, _but still a step, and infinitely better than shrugging or keeping silent or looking as though he is an empty shell, devoid of thought or emotion._

"It sure is, Prongslet." James said, pressing another kiss to his son's head. "It sure is."

"I know that I am going to be fine, because whatever happens, I will always have you and Mommy and Sirius and Remus and my friends."

"But of course, Harry," Lily said, as she pulled her son into a soft warm embrace, a smile as relieved and delighted as that of her husband's on her beautiful face, which grew wider as her son returned the loving embrace. "Of course. Whatever happens, you will always have me, your Daddy, your godfather, your god-uncle, and your friends."

"And don't you dare try to be rid of us, Prongslet." Sirius said, as he swung an arm around Remus' shoulder. Both men were grinning good-naturedly, being no less happy than their dearest friends to find that their precious beloved boy was finally opening up again. "Don't even think about it, it is impossible anyway. We Marauders are practically infamous for our…stickiness, aren't we, Mister Moony?"

"But of course, Mister Padfoot." Remus' grin grew wider. "Who would want to be rid of us, anyway? After all, having your own stag, your own Grim and your own werewolf is such a novelty. You can learn all the marvellous secrets of the wild and of nature from them, and you can go to sleep without fear of monsters under your bed. Who would want to be rid of us?"

With all the commotion that was bound to happen, Harry had been taken to the train early to get situated. James and Lily will be riding on the train with their son, while Remus and Sirius were getting everything ready at the Potter Manor. Hedwig, Harry's faithful old snowy owl, had been told to fly home, since she hated traveling in her cage. They took residence in the car at the front of the train, next to the Prefect carriage. According to his Daddy, it would be the last place anyone would try to cause trouble, since so many older students would be around.

They were soon joined by Harry's closest, most trusted friends: Ron, Hermione, Cedric, Ginny, and Neville. Cedric's appearance had actually been some what of a surprise to Harry's parents, for the Auror and the newest, youngest member of the Order of the Phoenix was supposed to be away on a secret mission. When asked about it, Cedric flatly replied that there was nothing more important than seeing Harry, _his _Harry, get home safe and sound, and that Dumbledore had agreed.

James and Lily exchanged mutual smiles at this, their hearts warm.

This honest, good-natured, graceful, charming young man was truly in love with their son, had proven his loyalty and devotion to their son again and again, he would someday make their son a worthy and admirable partner. Yes, they would accept him with pleasure as a son-in-law.

The train ride was not a quiet one, but it was not a noisy one either. An artless, gentle flow of conversation was kept going, making the atmosphere constantly easy and light.

"I have been thinking about something that Professor Dumbledore told me." Harry put in unexpectedly, his tone calm and the warm smile on his face.

Cedric raised a perfectly arched eyebrow; he was seated just beside Harry. "What's that, love?"

"That even though we have a war ahead of us…we have one thing that Voldemort does not have."

Ron stared at the boy who had been his dearest friend for so long, his freckled face a picture of curiosity and interest. "Yeah?"

Harry nodded. "Something worth fighting our very, very best for." He looked out of the window, taking in the incredible beauty that was displayed before him: the high woody hills, the wild blooming greenery, and the exquisite cloudless blue skies. _Something tells me that this is going to be the best summer ever. _

Yes, Harry knew that more trials and tribulations lay in store for him, his friends, his family, and for the wizarding and Muggle worlds. He knew that the final meeting with Voldemort will come, no matter how distant that day might be. He knew that he had not completely recovered from his mental ordeal yet, and so far he was only making some progress, taking baby steps. But he knew that his friends and family would be there for him when he needed them and they always would be. They knew him better than they knew himself, and right now they were exactly what he needed to recover emotionally. He _would_ recover from this.

Besides, he should focus on a current present that he can grasp, not a distant future he cannot foresee.

After all, it was holiday for him now.

_It was summer. A beautiful, warm, glorious summer! _

Note: This is as far as I can go for now. I do not know and cannot tell what the fate of this story will be next, but I would like to express my gratitude towards all those who had delivered positive reviews. Thank you all so very much. I could not have done it without you all, and I sincerely apologise for making you all wait so long. Hope you all enjoy this. Thank you all so much…


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